


the nights were as dark as my baby (and half as beautiful too)

by cursedwurm



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Eye Removal, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Holidays, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28405509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursedwurm/pseuds/cursedwurm
Summary: He watches as Peter’s form seems to flicker, like a candle in the wind, before his body is shrouded in a thick, icy mist and disappears. He’s an interesting man, certainly, and for the first time in several decades, Elias wants to get to know someone better. Not just for the sake of his patron, of course, but for his own personal pleasure; he wants to get under his skin, find out what makes him tick, find out what will push him to his limit.He doesn’t need omniscience to know that the interest is mutual.--An exploration of love, loyalty and loneliness over the years.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 20
Kudos: 41





	1. December, 1996

**Author's Note:**

> oof its been a while.
> 
> hi!! after i gave up on my last fic i figured i might as well do something I've been planning for a while. This was originally meant to be a) shorter and b) posted for xmas but neither of those plans worked out. So i guess this is a long fic now.
> 
> Please leave kudos+comments if you enjoy this fic!! You can check out my tumblr [here!](https://snapdraqons.tumblr.com/)

Tinsel hangs limply around the mirror in the men’s bathroom, reflecting spots of festive emerald green around the porcelain of the sink. It’s not long after eleven - or at least Elias assumes it is, considering it’s been a good six hours or so since anyone else was in the Institute building. 

He’s currently scrubbing blood from his hands, watching the red mingle with the water as it swirls around the drain. It stains his shirt too, splattered over the ill-fitting sleeves and collar; the garment is beyond saving, but even at this time of night he doesn’t dare go out in it. The streets of London will be lined with tourists marvelling at the same sparkling lights as they did the previous year and patrons of pubs returning from Christmas get-togethers and work parties they’ve had to drink their way through. But even with the unnecessary holiday cheer, Elias can’t see many Londoners taking too kindly to someone covered in human blood. 

He looks up in the mirror, wiping at the cuts on his cheeks that, thanks to his god, are already scabbing over. Elias Bouchard - the real one, the depressed stoner, the burn-out with no life goals and few friends or family to speak of - had put up a fight when his boss had dragged him into the tunnels under The Magnus Institute. Unlike James Wright - who had been unconscious when he became the Head of the Institute - he shoved and kicked and screamed as the blade of his pocket-knife had come into contact with the surface of his eye, resulting in a few more scrapes and bruises than Jonah was used to. Still, as long as it doesn’t leave any scars, he can manage. 

Elias is nothing like James Wright. They’d been similar in their lack of friends or family (with the former being disowned and the latter being divorced with a restraining order from his ex-wife), but other than that they couldn’t be less alike. James Wright had been tall, just over six foot, and broad, a little overweight but not quite soft enough in appearance to be unthreatening. He'd been old and pale, nearly 65, and despite his connection to the Beholding, his bones had been starting to ache and every so often he'd found himself massaging a cramp out of his shoulder. Elias, on the other hand, is the opposite. Just shy of 24, he's fairly short, just over five foot five, with a warm complexion. His hair is dyed ketchup red, styled into a purposefully-messy mullet and he has enough piercing to warrant plenty of stares from coworkers. He puts far too much effort into looking like he’s just rolled out bed: from his chipped nail varnish to cheap eyeliner smudged under his lashes. “ _That’s something that will have to change_ ,” he thinks to himself, scraping blood from underneath his nails.

He turns off the light in the men’s bathroom as he leaves, making his way back up to his office. It’s meticulously clean, of course, and one of the few rooms in the Institute that isn’t covered in baubles and sad strings of tinsel. He looks up at his - Jonah’s - portrait as he sits in the chair at his desk, hazel eyes meeting the identical pair watching over his office from behind the gilded picture frame. He’s still the only one in the building, but that doesn’t stop him from pulling James Wright’s blazer (still slung haphazardly over the back of his chair) over his body to cover it up. Just in case.

The institute is silent then. No chatter, no footsteps, no rustling of paperwork or obnoxious Christmas music playing from every speaker in every area of the building. Elias isn’t usually one to enjoy such an environment, but it makes a nice change from the hustle and bustle of the festive period. He idly scrawls his - Elias’, not James’ - signature on a piece of scrap paper as he waits for his change of clothes to arrive, taking the opportunity to bask in the silence the Institute has seen since the start of December.

It’s another thirty minutes before another person enters the building, followed by a knock on the door (hardly necessary considering that it’s nearly midnight) and despite expecting this, Elias can only frown as he gets up to open it. 

“Peter Lukas,” he says simply, “Why are you here?”

Peter - the only child of his generation still in the family - rolls his eyes as he takes off the brown leather satchel slung over his shoulder. “I thought you wanted a change of clothes,” he said, making no attempt to mask his contempt at having to talk to another person.

Elias sighs. “I was under the impression that someone else would be coming,” he replies, “Specifically Nathaniel, I believe he is the one who usually deals with… Institute business.”

Peter Lukas stares at him blankly. “Nathaniel’s sick,” he says, “I thought the _great Ceaseless Watcher_ would have told you that already.” He shoves the satchel into Elias’ arms before he gets the chance to reply.

They had met before when he was James Wright, but they’d never actually spoken more than a few words to each other. He’s not that much older than Elias is, twenty-nine to be precise, but everything about him already _reeks_ of Loneliness. It only makes sense that he’d be the favoured son, the one that Nathaniel would send in his stead. 

Peter turns to leave as Elias starts taking off his bloodstained shirt, but Elias stops him, calling his name before he can even get to the door.

“Mr Lukas?” he says, “You’re not going to stay for a drink?”

Peter isn’t facing him, but Elias can tell that he’s scowling - no omniscience needed. “Why would I want to do that?” he snaps, “You got your change of clothes, so I’m leaving. I didn’t come here for a chat.”

Elias sighs. “It’s traditional,” he tells him (this is a lie, but Peter doesn’t need to know that), “Besides, I could do with a drink, it’ll numb the pain a bit.”

Peter stiffens for a moment, clearly pained by the idea of having to make unnecessary conversation. He does, however, eventually turn back around, letting out an exasperated sigh as he agrees to stay. He averts his eyes as Elias finishes changing, less out of politeness and more as a way of displaying his annoyance, before taking a seat by his desk as he takes two glasses and a bottle of whiskey from a cupboard by the bookshelf. When Elias hands him his drink he thanks him quietly before taking a swig, wrinkling his nose at the taste. Elias just chuckles, taking a sip from his own as he sits back down in his chair.

“Not a fan of whiskey?” he asks, and Peter shakes his head.

“I don’t really drink.”

“I see.” Elias takes another sip of his drink, “So, do you have any plans for the festive season?”

At this, Peter’s frown turns into a scowl. “What do you think?” he asks, “You’ve known my family longer than I have, you shouldn’t need to ask that.”

Elias purses his lips at Peter’s comment, his grip on his glass tightening as he takes another sip, the familiar burn in the back of his throat calming his nerves. There’s silence for a while as Peter stares sullenly down into his whiskey, pouting like a child, and Elias watches him with curiosity. He certainly looks like a Lukas - blue-grey eyes, dull brown hair that would probably fall in gentle waves around his face if given the proper care. His sense of style is as unassuming as possible; his dark grey coat and black slacks are the closest one can get to camouflage in central London. He’s certainly nothing of note and yet Elias can’t help but pry, can’t help but let his curiosity get the better of him and weasel his way under Peter’s skin. He smiles, taking another sip of his drink before placing it down on his desk with a chuckle.

“You’re certainly more… _fiery_ than the rest of your family,” he comments, “Not that that’s particularly hard, of course, but most of them wouldn’t dare to answer someone back, especially not in another entity's place of power-"

Peter downs the rest of his whiskey, slamming the glass on the desk so forcefully that if Elias were still human he might've flinched. "Is it really so hard to believe that I don't want to be here?" he says sharply, "I was hardly expecting this… this _small talk_." He spits out the last two words, as if they've left a foul taste on his tongue, and Elias only raises his brow.

"What were you expecting then, Peter?" he asks him, "The Eye isn't exactly known for _not_ asking questions."

He waits for a response but doesn't get an answer, so he continues, "Really, Peter, I would've thought that you'd done _some_ research on your family's history with the Institute." He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in feigned exasperation, getting up from his side of the desk and making his way to Peter's. 

"I've had other things on my mind," Peter frowns, "You're not exactly my top priority."

"Is that so?" Elias sits on the desk in front of him, not used to how his feet don’t quite touch the floor.

“Yes.”

There’s silence for a few moments and Elias basks in Peter’s discomfort as they make eye contact, his frown turning into a grimace. He smiles at him, taking in how he shifts uncomfortably in his seat and fiddle with the hem of his jacket between his fingers. He’s not as bright as the majority of his family and certainly more outgoing - even if he’d never admit it - yet Elias can’t help but take interest in him. It does, of course, help that he’s hardly difficult on the eye.

Eventually, Elias breaks the silence, letting out a sigh of faux-resignation. “Well, regardless of how you feel about our meeting today, Peter,” he says, “There’s a good chance that you and I will be working a lot more closely in the future. While I certainly don’t ask you to _like_ me, it would definitely help if you were a little less… how should I put this…?”

Peter raises his brow. “Grumpy?”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it, yes.” Elias chuckles, getting up from his desk, “Either way, I’d appreciate a certain level of co-operation from you.”

At this, Peter’s expression seems to relax, turning from one of displeasure to a blank, neutral stare. “Is there anything in it for me?” he asks, and Elias nods.

“Of course. What kind of a partner would I be if there wasn’t?” he smiles, so sickly sweet that even _he_ finds himself cringing, “The people who come to the Institute for help are usually rather vulnerable, you know. An unexplainable event has driven them to come to us, and it’s rare that they’re ever truly able to share what happened to them with anyone else. Living with such trauma can be an incredibly… _Lonely_ experience, wouldn’t you agree?”

Peter’s eyes widen in realisation for a moment, then he slowly nods, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “I see,” he says, “So in exchange for my co-operation, you’ll do… what, exactly? Hand over your statement givers to the Lonely?”

“Not quite,” Elias shakes his head, “But I’ll be more than willing to… point you in the right direction for your future meals. Peter leans back in his seat, worrying his bottom lip in thought before answering.

“I suppose… that’s a perfectly reasonable offer.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Elias holds his hand out for him to shake; it’s more of a performance, a display of forced professionalism, than an actual formality, but Peter takes it anyway, his hands cold and surprisingly soft around Elias’ own. He smiles, just for a brief moment, before pulling his hand away and stuffing it into his pocket, almost as if he’s ashamed of the physical contact. There’s silence again, but this time it’s not uncomfortable; rather, it’s a quiet acknowledgement of where the two of them stand, of their apparent new-found allyship. Peter swallows, though his nerves seem to have mostly dissipated and he no longer looks like he’s being held at gunpoint whenever the two of them make eye contact.

He’s also the one to finally break the silence, letting out a sigh as he gets up from his seat. “I should probably get going,” he says, “It’s getting quite late.”

Elias nods and returns to his own seat. “Yes, I should probably be doing the same,” he picks up Peter’s satchel, now containing his bloodied clothes from earlier, and slings it over his shoulder, “Destroy all this before anyone finds it.”

“Of course,” Peter nods, hesitates, then, “I… suppose I’ll see you later at some point, then.”

“Yes, you will,” Elias smiles at him, putting the bottle of whiskey back in his cabinet and turning off the lamp on his desk, “I look forward to seeing you again soon, Peter.”

“...You too.” He watches as Peter’s form seems to flicker, like a candle in the wind, before his body is shrouded in a thick, icy mist and disappears. He’s an interesting man, certainly, and for the first time in several decades, Elias wants to get to know someone better. Not just for the sake of his patron, of course, but for his own personal pleasure; he wants to get under his skin, find out what makes him tick, find out what will push him to his limit.

He doesn’t need omniscience to know that the interest is mutual.


	2. December, 1997

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after their first meeting, Peter is invited to the Institute holiday party.
> 
> It's just a shame that Elias won't leave him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the lovely comments and kudos so far!! it really means a lot!! I'm trying to update this once a week, though I have no strict schedule at the moment.
> 
> Please leave kudos+comments if you enjoy this chapter!!
> 
> warning for suggestive content near the end. nothing too crazy tho sdhjjhds

James Wright had been a miserable old git.

Even before Elias had been him, he’d been unpopular around the Institute (with most people understandably being unable to look past his criminal record and restraining order), but when he was ‘promoted’ in 1972, he’d taken it further. The way Wright had run the Magnus Institute had been efficient, strict and no-nonsense. Everything was done the exact way he wanted it to be and he was a stickler for any and all rules, even going as far as to put new ones in place himself. It was easy to ensure that, when he supposedly took his own life in 1996, no-one would miss him. It hadn’t been fun to keep up such an act, but over the years Elias has found it to be a necessary evil.

Elias Bouchard, on the other hand, is not a miserable old git.

Elias Bouchard is young, unambitious and has a reputation for showing up to work intoxicated. It’s a reputation that took a whole year to clean up, but one that’s far easier (and more fun) to work with. Such a reputation allows for Elias to loosen the Institute’s rules and allow the working atmosphere to become a little more casual, creating enough of a difference between him and his previous identity that no-one will suspect that the two men are, in fact, one in the same. Naturally, this includes holding events at the Institute - namely, he decides to set aside a large chunk of the Lukas family’s donations to host a holiday party in December. It’s held exactly one year and four days after he had been ‘promoted’ to Head of the Institute, and toes the line between a casual event and a formal affair, with just enough free champagne promised to convince nearly the whole Institute to stop by. 

Peter grimaces, swirling his champagne idly around in his glass as Elias explains this to him in excruciating detail. The holiday party is in full swing; Institute employees are gathered in small groups, nursing glasses of champagne and mulled wine as they exchange small talk and office gossip to a soundtrack of cheesy Christmas music that sets Peter’s teeth on edge. He observes the crowd, clenching his fist tightly around his drink as he ignores the call of the Lonely and fights the urge to disappear. When he can take no more or it, he looks back to Elias, who’s finally stopped talking and is now watching him (or is that  _ Watching _ ?) with a mixture of curiosity and mild amusement. Irritated, he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, sipping his champagne with a frown.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, making no attempt to mask the annoyance in his voice. 

“You.”

Peter rolls his eyes at Elias’ answer, putting his glass down on the bartop and turning to face him. "Alright, let me rephrase that," he says, " _ Why _ are you looking at me like that?"

He chuckles, eyes glinting almost eerily in the sparkling red and green on the fairy lights around the bar. “Oh, am I not allowed to look at you now?” Elias smiles, “I thought it would be polite to make my honoured guest feel special tonight.”

“Special?” Peter scoffs. “You could make me feel special by leaving me alone, to start.”

“And why would I want to do that, Mr Lukas?”

For a moment Peter opens his mouth to retort, brow furrowed in annoyance as he makes brief eye contact with the Head of the Institute. He’s silent for a few seconds, shifting uneasily under his gaze, before giving in and muttering, “Fine, have it your way.” Elias frowns at this, apparently dissatisfied with his response, but chooses not to push him further - at least for the time being - which Peter supposes he should be grateful for. He’d rather not get in any trouble with him if he can help it.

He’s not scared of Elias. Intimidated, perhaps, but scared? Being scared would require him to fear for his own safety or wellbeing and he’s fully aware that Elias wouldn’t dare cross a member of the Lukas family, not when they provide such a significant portion of the Institute’s funding. No, this is something else entirely.

In the year he’s got to know Elias, Peter has learned three main things about him:

One:   
He’s absolutely ruthless when he wants to be, and has managed to maintain connections over the last few centuries that would allow him to have any and all threats to his plans wiped out in the blink of an eye. He’s made that clear to Peter on multiple occasions, though they both know that he wouldn’t dare follow through on his threats - unless, of course, his family were to stop giving him money. Then he wouldn’t hesitate to have them destroyed.

Two:   
Despite what he may say, he’s a total drama queen. He’s a voyeur first and foremost, but outside of professional situations such as this one, he’ll do all he can to drag the attention towards him and make a show of lying to people’s faces, often to get a rise out of them. He is, for lack of a better word, a complete brat, and takes great joy in watching others hold themselves back from pointing it out.

And finally, three:

Elias Bouchard is incredibly, incredibly attractive. He’s short and slim, with warm, freckled skin and an immaculate appearance that comes as a result of spending the last year redeeming his body’s previous owner’s questionable reputation. He looks good in the fitted bespoke suits he wears, far better than James Wright had ever done; he looks untouchable in them, cold and professional in a way that Peter cannot deny suits him. It doesn’t help that even Elias’ less… favourable traits - like the threats and the (usually successful) attempts at making himself the centre of attention - are still, somehow, ridiculously hot.

If he’s being completely honest with himself, half the reason why Peter finds himself intimidated by Elias is because he’s attracted to him. Unfortunately.

He takes another sip of his champagne, doing all he can to block out the chatter and Christmas cheer of the party as he looks up at the clock on the wall, frowning when he sees that it’s only just gone nine o’clock and there’s no way anyone is drunk enough for him to disappear without them noticing. He hears Elias chuckle beside him, and if it weren’t for the fact that he, for some reason, thinks it’s the most beautiful laugh he’s ever heard, Peter would have told him to piss off there and then.

But he doesn’t, instead allowing the Head of the Institute to speak.

“Oh, come now, Mr Lukas,” he tells him, “I know you aren’t exactly the most… festive of people, but you could at least  _ pretend  _ that you’re enjoying yourself.”

“What would I get out of that?” Peter downs the rest of his champagne, slamming the glass hard enough on the bar that Elias almost -  _ almost  _ \- flinches. “You and I both know I didn’t want to come here, and if it weren’t for these… formalities you keep bringing up I would never have shown up in the first place.”

“Formalities?” Elias cocks his head to one side.

“Yes,” Peter replies, “You said that it’s polite for a Lukas to attend, since we’re the ones funding--” Elias cuts him off before he can finish speaking, leaning against the bar as he tilts his head back and laughs and,  _ fuck _ , that laugh is beautiful.

“You really aren’t that bright, are you?” he says, “That was bullshit, Peter. I just told you that because I enjoy watching you squirm.”

Peter isn’t sure how to answer that. For a few moments all he can do is stare, blinking in surprise as what the Head of the Institute just said settles in. It’s a threat more than anything else; it’s Elias’ way of telling Peter that, whether he likes it or not, he  _ Knows  _ him, he  _ Knows  _ that this is torture for him and  _ Knows  _ exactly how to make it worse. It’s his way of saying that, right now, he has all the power and Peter is just as much of a pawn in his game as the rest of his institute. It’s his way of making his move, pushing his pieces exactly into place before daring Peter to make his next move. 

And it’s also, unfortunately, incredibly hot.

Peter swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “Oh,” he replies dumbly, unable to think of anything else to say. He feels his face heat up in embarrassment and his patron calls out to him, practically begging him to disappear. Elias just laughs, before beckoning over the bartender and asking for two glasses of wine. He hands one to Peter, giving him a smug, self-satisfied smile. 

“You look like you need this,” he tells him, and there’s an edge to his voice that tells Peter that he isn’t getting a say in the matter. He takes the drink and finally, for the first time that evening, there’s silence between them.

Peter looks up at the clock again - it hasn’t even been ten minutes since he last checked the time - then finds a tree he can focus on through a window and keeps his eyes fixed on that in an attempt to block out the festive cheer around him. It’s not exactly ideal, but it’s all he can get for now. It’ll probably be at least another half-hour until anyone will be drunk enough for him to be able to feed the Forsaken again - whether that be through his own isolation or by sacrificing some poor drunk stranger as they stumble out of a local pub. He thinks about that, hoping that an upcoming meal will be enough to distract him from everything else, including Elias.

_ Especially  _ Elias.

But Elias, of course, isn’t one to give up easily; Peter has sat through plenty of games of blackjack and poker with him to know that. Despite doing all he can to find solitude at this party, the Institute’s head refuses to leave him be. He can practically feel his Eyes on him, his gaze pushing past the thick fabric of his coat and picking at what’s underneath, playing with him like a child playing with its food. He clenches his fist, downing half his glass of wine in one go, before turning back to Elias.

“Stop that,” he tells him.

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Stop what, Peter?”

“Stop  _ Looking  _ at me,” he snaps, “I don’t want to be here, and you’re not making it any easier for either of us.” 

“Aren’t I?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll--”

“You’ll what, Peter?” Elias grins, “What can you do, in my place of power, that isn’t going to put you at a disadvantage? You can’t send me to the Lonely, and I doubt you want the attention that comes with a physical altercation. The cards are in my hands, so to speak, so if I were you--”

“I’ll cut your funding.”

Elias goes silent for a moment as he’s cut off, lips parted but no sound leaving them. He blinks in surprise and Peter can’t help but smile, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he takes a sip of his wine. “That got you to be quiet.”

“I--” Elias starts to protest, but he barely gets a word out before Peter continues.

“You know, Elias,” he says, “You’re far more attractive when you shut up.”

“Oh…  _ Oh _ .”

The next five minutes following that exchange are a blur. Peter downs the rest of his wine far too quickly, letting Elias do the same before following him out of the function hall hired out for the party. He’s not sure how, but he ends up in a broom closet, where the holiday party is no more than a distant Christmas song playing faintly elsewhere in the building, where he’s grabbed by the front of his coat and pulled in for a kiss.

Peter silently begs his god for forgiveness before kissing him back, closing his eyes and relaxing into Elias’ embrace.

The kiss is surprisingly gentle; Elias’s lips are warm and soft against Peter’s chapped ones and his hands move to wrap around his shoulders to pull his body flush against his own. He tastes like wine and smells like expensive cologne and before he knows it Peter is sliding his hands down to his waist and letting him deepen the kiss, following his lead as he presses him against the wall of the broom closet and probes his lips open with his tongue.

It’s then that Elias pulls away, laughing softly as Peter moves with him, chasing after this kiss as it’s broken. “You don’t do this often, do you?” he asks softly. Peter shakes his head.

“That was, uh…”

“Your first?”

“...Yes.”

Elias nods. “I see,” he mutters, “Would you like to continue?”

“Please.”

And then Elias pulls him closer and reconnects their lips, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and tangling his fingers in his hair. Peter lets him, leaning back against the door of the broom closet as his fingers grip the soft fabric of his blazer and he melts into the kiss. The Forsaken grabs at him, begging him to pull away but he ignores it, savouring the feeling of Elias’s body pressed against his chest and his lips slick on his own. When the kiss is deepened he doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, opening his mouth and letting out a soft hum of appreciation as he slips his tongue into his mouth. He allows Elias to take the lead, tongue hot and wet between his lips, letting him take charge and pin him up against the door. Peter’s not sure exactly how long the two of them stay like that, making out in the dark of a broom closet during the institute holiday party. He could stay there for hours, with Elias tongue halfway down his throat and his hands running up and down his body.

When the kiss is finally broken it’s Elias who pulls away, chuckling to himself as a thin line of saliva connects their lips. His mouth is red and swollen, slick with spit and far too enticing. Peter wants to pull him back in, let him devour him all over again, but instead just laughs along, feeling his face flush as Elias does his best to fix his hair.

“I should, uh, probably get back out there,” Elias admits, “It’s technically my party.”

“Right.” Peter straightens the collar of his coat, doing his best to appear indifferent, “If it’s okay, I’ll probably head off now.”

Elias nods. “Yes, yes, I understand,” he tells him, “Though… we should do this again sometime.”

“I agree.”

“Though perhaps… Perhaps I could buy you dinner first.”

Peter’s heart races and he can practically feel the Forsaken whispering in his ear, begging him to say no. He ignores it and smiles, kissing Elias on the cheek as he opens the closet door. “Dinner sounds lovely,” he tells him, “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr Bouchard.”

“You too, Mr Lukas.”

Peter watches him leave before doing the same, relaxing into the fog as he finally returns to the Lonely. He does, in fact, enjoy the rest of the evening, spending it in the small bedroom of his rented-out apartment with only his hands and Elias’ name on his lips to keep him company.


End file.
